


how much disco does it take to drown out the cicadas? (or, the story of how scott summers died before he turned thirty)

by 90scyke (peachypiper)



Series: camp au courtesy of @pencilscratchins [1]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men Evolution
Genre: (nothing graphic bc. thats Not Good and i dont wanna write that), Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Bonding, Campfires, Good times, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, SOMEDAY i will do it, Sneaking Out, Team Bonding, all that good summer shit like high ropes courses and canoeing and swimming in a freezing lake naked, also, also i have no clue where this is going and i think i might expand it so its a Big Series, and maybe the brotherhood camp and other shit!!, because i Love Samuel Guthrie And Roberto Da Costa, but i wanna do stuff to focus on the new mutants and like. jean and maddy, i love older brother alex, i took pencilscratchins's au and i ran with it, it's a fucking mess okay let me be, its a red fox and this is canon, its all over the place, let him have comfort items even as an adult, oh I forgot, right now this fic is what y'all got, scott has a stuffed fox, scott is the younger summers brother because I Can Do That and also im a slut for that content, scott's a furry and we been knew, this is a big fucking mess of canon you hear me??, with all the trauma the x-men have suffered they should all get stuffed animals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 09:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15409665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachypiper/pseuds/90scyke
Summary: "camp xavier’s caters to each campers individual, unique… skill. like fishing! or… ax wielding. and not telekinesis. or anything." - the (un)official motto of camp xavier's, located in the catskills in upstate new yorkthis was supposed to be the year scott got his lucky break. he's been waiting on this ship for twelve years, and this is going to be the year all his hard work and patience pays off.yeah, right. like that'd ever happen.





	how much disco does it take to drown out the cicadas? (or, the story of how scott summers died before he turned thirty)

**Author's Note:**

> credit for this au goes to @pencilscratchins on tumblr! ( pencilscratchins.tumblr.com ) their art is the reason this fic exists, and i love the universe they've created so much that i wanted to write about it! if you guys don't know much about it, i highly recommend it! it's just fantastic, and i love every bit of content they create for it. <3
> 
> in other news, i still love scott summers and i'm still willing to apologize for pretty much everything he does and i'm still over here writing countless fics (most of which will Never Be Published) about him because Marvel Doesn't Care!!
> 
> also, the canon for this is a Mess. it's a mashup of evo and 616 and the original camp au canon universe, but y'all can interpret it however. i just want these kids to be happy... that's all i ask for in life :'^)

“Well, in light of what happened last year…” Xavier looked pointedly over at Sean, who simply shrugged and continued smoking his joint. “We will have the counselors draw straws for your groups. And Mr. Cassidy, I won’t ask you to snuff that out, but if you’d go outside to smoke, I think we would all appreciate it.”

 

Sean shrugged again and kept smoking.

 

“Jean, Warren, and Madelyne are our senior counselors this year, and of course we have Scott as our only returning junior counselor. Since Bishop and Betsy are on a study abroad to Japan over the summer, we will have Anna Marie and Alison as our other two junior counselors.

 

“I’m sure you’re all excited for camp to begin, but first I’d like to go over some rules for the drawing. No trading. I will be able to tell,” Xavier said, tapping his head.

 

_ It’s so shiny. It’s, like, shinier than my parents’ wedding rings. Wow. How does he get it that way? _ Scott thought to himself, tuning out the rest of the speech to stare at it. He’d been attending Camp Xavier since he was fourteen anyway (going on twelve years - he was twenty-six this year, and honestly? Why wasn’t  _ he _ selected for senior counselor-ship? Warren was only twenty-three, and Jean and Maddy were twenty-seven. He was older and far more responsible. The other junior counselors were barely twenty-two - at most. It just wasn’t fair.), and while he hated to disobey rules, it wasn’t like he didn’t know what Xavier was going to say. He’d practically grown up with the man - Xavier was as good as Scott’s second father, and Scott was the son Xavier never had.

 

Xavier cleared his throat loudly and Scott jolted back to the conversation and blushed a light pink as he felt the eyes of everyone else fixed on him.

 

“Mr. Summers? Now that you’re back with the rest of us, I’d like you to pick first.”

 

“Oh, uh, yeah… Sorry, sir,” Scott mumbled, his face darkening to the same scarlet of his glasses. Logan snorted from across the table and Scott whipped around to glare at him. It didn’t work, and he ended up looking like a sad puppy.

 

Tentatively, Scott reached a hand into the red - it was probably red, but Lord knew  _ he _ of all people wasn’t going to be able to tell - Solo cup that had cabin assignments and pulled out a slip of paper. His hands shook ever so slightly as he opened it and a pleading look crossed his face. Written on the crumpled paper in Xavier’s neat cursive hand was  _ “Camp Hurston: Lorna Dane, Megan Gwynn, Katherine Pryde, Quintavius Quire, and Evan Sabahnur.” _

 

“Scott, this will be good for you. You were like that at a young age, too,” Xavier chided, and Jean nodded with him. “They may relate to you more because of your status as a junior counselor. As you may recall, -”

 

“Yeah, I recall,” Scott grumbled. “Not that I’ll have any recall memory by the time they’re done with me.”

 

“Lemme guess. Slim got the hell kids this year?” At Scott’s reluctant nod, Logan let out a guffaw and slapped the table. “Summers, yer gonna have a helluva lotta cleaning up ta do after those kids. They visit anywhere? I want it gleaming after they’re gone.”

 

“Logan, that’s your job,” Scott replied with a scowl. “I’m just supposed to make sure they don’t get into trouble.”

 

“Might be, but I ain’t cleanin’ up after yer crew this year. They make too much of a mess. ‘Specially Quire. So you’d better make sure the floors’re nicer than the fucking dinner plates before ya leave any building, ‘cause I sure as hell ain’t here to put up with that bullshit.”

 

“Hey!  _ Language! _ ” Scott said indignantly. “That’s unacceptable!”

 

“Save it for the kiddos, Scotty. You’re gonna need it.”

 

“Alright, Scott, Logan, that’s enough bickering. You can resume when we leave. And Scott? I’d like to see you in my office when we conclude.” Xavier looked Jean, Maddy, Warren, Rogue, and Ali each in the eye and gave them encouraging smiles. “The rest of you may now pick a paper from the cup.”

 

Jean went first. Judging from her pleased grin, Scott figured she probably ended up with Camp Curie, which consisted mostly of younger kids - Trevor was the only returning camper, but it seemed like a good crop of kids regardless.  _ No Quentin. Lucky _ , Scott groused to himself, then stopped when he noticed Jean was giving him a pointed look from her seat at the table.

 

_ Your father can hear you, you know, Scott. _

 

_ Sorry _ , he thought back, and she left it at that.

 

Maddy went after that - she happily announced that she had Camp Tesla - and then Warren, who ended up with Camp Franklin. Then were the other junior counselors: Rogue got Camp Mendel, lovingly termed “The New Mutants” as of the previous year, and Ali got Camp Boaz.

 

“I have  _ Wade _ ?” she exclaimed, bright bursts of light shining from her fingertips as if to accentuate her surprise. “Wade? Wade  _ Wilson _ ?”

 

“Ms. Blaire,” Xavier said cautiously, “I do hope you won’t blind us.”

 

“Sorry,” she replied, sticking her hands in her lap with an embarrassed grin on her face. “I know we don’t trade, but… I’m a junior counselor. I don’t know if it’s smart to have me alone with  _ Wade _ quite yet. He’s…a handful.”

 

“You’ll be fine.” He gave her a warm smile, his eyes twinkling. “I think you have the pluck to do it. You’ll have Bobby with you, too - you won’t be alone.”

 

Scott shot her a sympathetic look and Ali grimaced back, slouching in her seat.

 

“At least it’s not Quentin,” he whispered, shrugging.

 

“Scott, our young Mr. Quire  _ is _ , in fact, a telepath. You will need to be careful - he will be able to hear what you think. As will I. Be kind to him. I think you’ll see that he’s just lonely.”

 

“Yeah, well, if I wanted to hang out with a lonely middle schooler, I’d hang out with  _ my  _ thirteen-year-old self,” Scott muttered to himself, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was  _ way _ less of a nightmare than he was.”

 

“ _ Scott _ ,” Xavier warned, raising an eyebrow at his protege. “Behave.”

 

“I  _ am  _ behaving.”

 

“You’re disrespecting the children that should be looking up to you in just three short hours. I would not call that ‘behaving’.”

 

Scott sighed. “Fine.”

 

“Look on the bright side, Scotty. Evan seems like a good kid, and Kitty’s always fun. And Megan’s very sweet,” Warren added helpfully, his white wings fluttering as he hovered inches above his chair. “Quentin doesn’t have to be the defining part of the summer. It’ll still be fun!”

 

“I love you, Warren, and I think that’s really sweet. But right now, all I wanna do is see Alex and maybe watch some Grey’s Anatomy before I have to go wrangle children,” Scott said, turning on his heel towards the door and giving his companions a half-hearted wave. “See you all in a few hours. Oh, let me know when The New Mutants get here. It’d be nice to see some actually sweet and well-behaved campers once more before I die from Quentin-itis.”

 

“Scott.” Xavier wheeled his chair over to where Scott stood at the door. “My office first, if you would.” It wasn’t a request.

 

“Yes, sir,” Scott said, feeling guilt roil in his stomach. He’d messed up big time. But in his defense, Quentin made everything worse simply by being in the vicinity. The Professor just didn’t understand.

 

“I heard that, Mr. Summers.”

 

“Sorry, sir.” Scott followed his adopted father into the adjacent office and sat down in one of the chairs facing the Xavier’s desk, fidgeting nervously with his badges and pins.

 

“Scott -” Xavier began.

 

“I shouldn’t be so harsh on them. I know. I’m sorry. It’s just hard. I have all the duties of a senior counselor with none of the prestige or privilege. You promoted  _ Warren _ ahead of me. I love him, and he deserves that promotion, but… It’s not fair. And then I get the worst-behaved batch of kids here. It sucks,” Scott cut in, almost tearing off his “Fireside Cooking” merit badge with how furiously he was picking at it. “I feel like it means I suck, too. And I don’t know what I’m doing to make you think that.”

 

“You feel ignored. You don’t think I understand that, but I do, Scott. I’ve never told you why I haven’t promoted you to senior counselor yet. I think now is an appropriate time.” Xavier slid a hand across the desk to take Scott’s. “You’re a leader, Scott. I trust you. I know you want to be a senior counselor, but the fact is that someone needs to be a positive influence on the junior counselors. Oftentimes, they’re just campers who’ve barely graduated. They need an authority figure that they can still relate to. That’s you, son. And it’s a very important job to have. I wouldn’t give anyone else that position if I thought they didn’t deserve it.”

 

Scott felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. The Professor trusted him? More than Maddy or Warren? More than  _ Jean _ , his prize pupil? “Really, sir?”

 

“Yes,” Xavier replied with a slight smile in Scott’s direction. “I wouldn’t lie to you. I trust you. So please trust me in return, Scott. That’s all I ask.”

 

“Thanks,” Scott choked out, his throat tightening with the tears that were now sliding down his cheeks.

 

“I also trust you to help these children become a force for good. They’re all good inside - they just have some trouble showing it. Quentin just wants to be noticed, and Lorna has had a lot of trouble with her father. Kitty cares deeply about this camp and the people here. She’s just being herself. If she wants to be mischievous, let her. Within reason, of course. I believe in them, and I believe in you.”

 

A solid minute went by without either of them saying a word. Scott was still reeling from what Xavier had just told him, and he wasn’t entirely sure he could talk again. He also knew that his adopted father was smiling up at him in that encouraging, loving way he always did when he talked with Scott, and Scott wasn’t sure he could deal with that yet, either. He might explode, and the headline “Local Camp Exposed As Mutant Training Facility After Longtime Counselor Spontaneously Combusts From Emotional Overload” didn’t sound appealing.

 

“Professor?” Scott scuffed his shoes on the oak flooring, deliberately avoiding eye contact with his mentor. “Can I hug you? Please?”

 

“Of course, son.” Xavier wheeled around to Scott and reached out to embrace Scott. Scott knelt on the floor and fell into Xavier’s arms, crying softly while Xavier stroked his hair.

 

“Shh. It’s alright. I love you very much. And I’m very proud of you.”  
  


* * *

 

 

Three hours later, the campers, returning and new, stood in clumps outside the mess hall, their counselors at the head. Jean and Maddy had the same ecstatic expression, while Warren had his wings folded into his body and was biting his nails. Rogue seemed to be having a contest with Sam over whose accent was more Southern (i.e. harder to understand) while ‘Berto recorded it on his brand-new iPhone X, and Alison was chatting away with Bobby, who was showing off his impressive Jimmy Buffett CD collection.

 

Scott sighed, red-rimmed eyes hidden by the opaqueness of his ruby-quartz lenses. Quentin had found a box (a soapbox, ironically) and had begun loudly speechifying about Magneto and the fate of mutantkind. Megan and Kitty were chatting (presumably about how they were going to prank Scott, as he heard his own name several times in their hushed conference), Lorna was flicking dirt at Quentin, and the new kid, whom Scott had identified as Evan Sabahnur, was standing shyly at the back, still clinging to his luggage. This was going to be a long ride.

 

Putting on his best smile, Scott strode over to where Evan was standing. “You don’t have to carry your bags for this, okay?” he said gently, prying Evan’s fingers away from it. “I’m Scott. I’m gonna be your counselor this summer. And you’re Evan, right?”

 

Evan gave a nod, and Scott smiled patiently at him, offering his hand. “How about you and I go drop your stuff off in the cabin so you don’t have to drag it around all night?”

 

Evan nodded again, slipping his small hand into Scott’s. Scott squeezed it and led him along the main passageway to Hurston. The door was unlocked, and as per usual, Scott wiped his feet on the mat before entering, motioning for Evan to do the same. “There’s only one bunk left, but if you need another one, you can have mine, okay?”

 

“No, this’ll be fine. Thank you,” Evan said, placing his bags on the lower left bunk and smiling up at Scott. Scott was shocked to hear the same prairie twang in Evan’s voice that he heard in his own. He tried his hardest to mask it; his time in Nebraska didn’t make for the happiest memories. But sometimes, when he wasn’t concentrating, he slipped, and that flat, nasally accent came out when he spoke.

 

“You… You from Nebraska, Evan?” Scott said, curious as to what his response would be. It could be that his accent was just an amalgam of several different ones, blended so that it sounded almost like Scott’s own.

 

“Kansas,” was Evan’s reply, accompanied by a proud smile.

 

“Ah. Pretty, uh, flat. Out there.” Scott kicked himself internally for that.  _ Of course Kansas is flat! That’s pretty much its state motto! _

 

“Oh. Yes, it is,” Evan said, perched tentatively on the edge of his bunk.

 

“Yeah. Uh. Sorry. I just - I’m from Nebraska. Sorta. But, uh, you don’t get a lotta people from around there, so…” Scott scratched at the nape of his neck awkwardly, trying to save face. “Y’know.”

 

Evan gave him a sympathetic smile, eyes bright. “I don’t mind.”

 

“You sure this one is gonna be okay for you? ‘Cause I can take that one, and you can have my bunk if you need it, ‘kay?”

 

“No need. But thank you.” Evan smiled up at Scott again, and Scott felt compelled to smile back. In a good way. It was as if the kid’s smiles were infectious. He couldn’t help but share them.

 

“Okay. Lemme know if you change your mind.” Scott headed towards the door. “You ready to go?”

 

“Yes, sir!” Evan replied.

 

“Oh, no, you don’t have to call me ‘sir’. It’s okay. You can me Scott, okay? Don’t worry about it,” Scott said, blushing. He wasn’t used to that kind of formality, aside from the mocking “sir, yes, sir”s and the “10-4. Copy that, sir”s he got from some of the kids who he knew felt he was way too strict for a summer camp. It felt odd, but nice to have someone respect him that way.

 

“Okay, Scott.” Evan skipped out the entrance and back to the mess hall, Scott trailing close behind.

 

They returned just in time for Xavier’s finishing remarks to the campers. Jean shot Scott a mock-dirty look that clearly said,  _ Why weren’t you here? _

 

He kept walking, but thought,  _ Helping Evan settle in. I’m working with my kids _ , back in her direction.

 

_ Really? What did he need? _

 

_ A place to put his luggage _ , Scott thought, more than a little smugly. While they were friends and had been since their first year at Camp Xavier, Scott didn’t exactly do “roll with the punches” and “it’s just teasing” well. He knew, in some capacity, that she was joking with him, but he couldn’t always see that. Thus, it became more and more of a competition for Scott to prove he was good at his job every year.  _ I saw him clinging to his suitcase and I offered to take it to the cabin for him. Now we’re pals. _

 

She smiled in his direction.  _ Glad to see you doing your job. _

 

_ Oh, lay off, Jean. Of course I’m doing my job _ , he sent back, picking his way around the other kids to face his group. It was clear from the way Quentin was in stitches that he’d been listening in on the whole thing.

 

“Quentin,” Scott started, glaring at the younger boy.

 

“Scotty, are you and Jeannie fighting? I’d be really *hic* -” Quentin calmed down just long enough to finish his sentence. “Really sad if you - if you two divorced, y’know…” He seemed set to say something else, but dissolved into another fit of laughter.

 

Scott rolled his eyes. “Jean and I aren’t into each other. Sorry to disappoint, Quire.”

 

“Oh, c’mon! Of course you are! You’re the quintessential American white people!”

 

“Quentin,  _ you’re _ white, too,” Scott said, puzzled.

 

“Yeah, but, like, you guys are super, super white. You’re, like, an Eagle Scout, Scotty. I bet your favorite meal is a grilled cheese sandwich with milk.” Quentin explained, gesturing wildly with his hands to make his point. “And then Jeannie’s pretty and smart, and she likes kids and swimming and arts ‘n’ crafts! You guys are like a fuckin’ Norman Rockwell painting.”

 

Scott glared at him. “Language, Quentin. I don’t think you want negative merit points before we even start the camp count.”

 

“Ha! You’re not denying it!”

 

“I am not interested in Jean. Jean is not interested in me. How many times do I have to say this?” Scott said, exasperated.

 

“Oh, c’mon,” Quentin whined, falling onto the ground at Scott’s feet. “I had a bet going that you two would get married this year! And you’re invalidating my fanfiction! It’s not  _ fair _ !”

 

“You’re a telepath, Quire. So read my lips.” Scott squatted down next to Quentin. “Jean and I are not going out. We aren’t interested in each other. Romantically, sexually, you name it. We are friends and  _ that’s it _ .”

 

“Friends with benefits?”

 

“No!” Scott stood back up and wiped his hands on his khakis. “That’s fifteen demerits on your record. Anyone else who tries to play matchmaker gets the same.”

 

Quentin just stuck his tongue out at Scott, and Scott rubbed his temples. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kitty and Quentin high-fiving, after which Kitty dumped a canister of hand sanitizer on her hand. “We’re off to a great start, then,” he muttered to himself.

 

“Alright, everyone,” a clear, Oxfordian tenor sounded telepathically in each person’s head - Professor Xavier’s voice. Some of the younger and newer campers clutched at their heads or looked around wildly for the echoing voice. Veteran campers quietly explained the telepathic communication to the newbies, and the commotion settled.

 

“Our groundskeeper, Logan, has a few announcements,” Xavier announced, out loud this time. “Logan, if you will.”

 

“Right.” Logan stood up on his stool, barely making him taller than Ororo - who was 6’0” - even with the added height. “We have some rules here that you’ve gotta follow. So shut up an’ listen.

 

“First off, I’m Logan. I’m the groundskeeper here. I’m nice so long as ya don’t piss me off. That said, I ain’t got patience for shenanigans. Knock ‘em off, or do it before ya get here. Yer here now, so yer only option is ta suppress that urge ‘til ya get back home.

 

“Next is takin’ care o’ the grounds. I work hard ta make ‘em look nice. So leave ‘em nicer than ya found ‘em. Don’t pick the flowers. Don’t trample the grass. Don’t kick up the mulch. Don’t tear branches off the trees. Wipe yer feet b’fore ya enter the cabins. And fer Pete’s sake, pick up yer goddamn trash. I’ll hunt ya down and make ya pick up every bit of trash in the camp with me if ya so much as drop a piece o’ gum on the ground.”

 

Scott tuned out Logan’s remarks as soon as he started on the third bullet point of his spiel. At this point, he pretty much knew it by heart. It wasn’t as if it was hard to remember it, either.

 

Instead, he turned his attention to the other side of the mess hall, where his older brother Alex stood, wooden spoons in hand and chef’s hat knocked to the side. Alex met his eye and winked at him. Scott smiled back, then glanced over at the very back of the hall.

 

Hank McCoy, Ph.D., M.D., was twenty-seven, brilliant as all get-out, and literally leonine. With deep, royal blue fur and golden cat-like eyes, he was a sight to behold. Perhaps, Scott thought, he was more majestic than any lion in any jungle. He certainly looked it. Hank caught Scott staring at him and shook his head slowly, a slight cat-smile on his face that said, “Pay attention, Scotty.” Scott resisted the urge to swoon.

 

_ I was way off. I was convinced you and Jeannie were a thing!  _ Quentin’s voice pushed at the back of Scott’s head, brash and irritating.  _ So. McCoy? It doesn’t  _ bother _ you that he’s blue and furry? _

 

_ Out, Quire _ , Scott thought back, using the skills he had learned from Jean and the Professor to try and push Quentin back.

 

_ No, no, no, I’m intrigued now. You’ve piqued my curiosity _ , Quentin responded, delving further. Scott flushed deeply and fought harder against Quentin’s tunneling. He was about to reached that locked box where Scott kept his thoughts about Hank. (He had one for each of his close friends, of course, but the most private of all of them was probably Hank’s - Jean had helped him create it when they were sixteen and seventeen, respectively, so that Scott wasn’t wearing his heart on his sleeve. Not that he did, but according to Jean, he tended to project whenever Hank was around, and this made him a target for nosy telepaths like herself, Rachel, and Quentin.)

 

_ Stop! _ Scott cried out.

 

Quentin smirked and stopped.  _ Only since you asked nicely. But I got my answer. _

 

_ You’ve got nothing. _ Scott narrowed his eyes at Quentin and raised a hand to his glasses, then lowered it again. Scott would’ve liked nothing more than to blast Quentin past the moon, maybe all the way to Saturn, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t be able to stand the disappointment etched on the Professor’s face.

 

_ Oh, but I do, Scotty! With the way you’re protecting your feelings like they’re the Holy Grail, I’d say you’ve got it pretty bad for Doc McFurface, hmm? _

 

_ Get. Out. Of. My. Head _ , Scott growled, his cheeks almost radiating heat in his embarrassment.  _ Leave me alone. And don’t call me ‘Scotty’. _

 

Quentin’s eyes gleamed and Scott felt his stomach drop. That was his cue to leave, before Quentin spilled the beans all over the floor of the mess hall.

 

Scott slammed the door behind him and sat down on a stump, fuming. Why was it that year after year, Quentin never changed? He’d been this way since he was ten - an over-inflated ego (bigger than any he’d seen, and he knew several super-geniuses), paired with an annoyingly snarky attitude and a penchant for causing trouble. His first year was the year Scott marked as the year the camp started going to the dogs - like the year 0 on the calendar. There was a B.Q. - Before Quire - and a Q.E. - Quire Enrolled. And since Quentin was only thirteen, Q.E. was going to last a heck of a lot longer than Scott wanted to think about.

 

The Professor would beg to disagree, Scott thought bitterly to himself. He’d say Quentin was just a boy trying to make something out of a confusing world that had rejected him in every way he knew. Maybe that was one of the perks of being a telepath: being able to sense someone’s true potential.

 

It had happened with Scott, hadn’t it? He’d been the orphan boy running to New York City to escape both the abuse he’d suffered and the terrible accident he didn’t know how to explain but somehow knew he was responsible for. He was the emotionally-stunted and closed-off fourteen-year-old who barely spoke and never had anything remotely resembling confidence or decisiveness. Somehow, amidst all that baggage, the Professor sensed something in him. Potential for leadership and empathy, for learning and for teaching. Twelve years had now passed and he had become something he never could’ve imagined back in the State Home for Foundlings.

 

Quentin was different, sure, and he was irritating as all get-out, but maybe he just dealt with his issues differently. Maybe there was potential underneath the Axe Body Spray and the neon pink dye. Potential for something great, and he needed to learn how to use it. Just like Scott had been those many years ago. So maybe they weren’t so different, and maybe they weren’t as diametrically opposed as he’d thought.

 

_ Maybe I should think about Quentin the way the Professor does. _

 

It would be hard, and it would take commitment on Scott’s part to give him the benefit of the doubt and not assume the worst whenever something inconvenient happened, but maybe it was a start. And maybe, just maybe, he could change the way Quentin thought about  _ him  _ in the process.

 

_ Yeah. Maybe. _


End file.
